【Ｒｅｙ】 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
circumitus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2017-12-14 07:13 am
circumitus) wrote in hadriel_logs2017-12-14 07:13 am
Entry tags:
buckshot is my bread; i'll drink whiskey instead of water.
Who: Rey and close CR/semi-OPEN.
What: In the wake of the Null attack, Rey tries to deal with current events by straight up not dealing at all.
Where: Robot House (1401).
When: Catch-all for December. Please put the date in the subject line!
Warnings: Poor coping mechanisms, depression, anger, suicidal ideations, starvation, fun stuff like that.
Note: As of December 12th, Rey will temporarily be without network access until further notice.
Not long after the light of the twin suns peeked through the cracks of every window did Rey do everything in her power remedy this new situation. Having lost Maketh and so much more than that has left a hole in her chest that she can't quite bring herself to even try and fill, and the sun is the last sensation she wants on her skin. Can't drag herself off the floor and go about business as usual, either. Can't do much of anything.
At first it comes in bursts of anger. Screaming and clawing at her own arms. Whatever pain and damage done to herself only heals again in a matter of hours -- sometimes days, before there is a risk of anyone noticing. Her selective healing has its benefits, depending on one's perspective.
Not that Rey gives one much opportunity to stop by and notice. The windows of her room are blackened with layers of opaque cloth, boards sealing them shut from any unwanted visitors peeking inside. The bed pins to the sliding door, leading to that balcony connecting the neighboring bedroom; its mattress props up to serve as a barricade from prying eyes.
In a sense, she's created her own tomb; a place for her to curl up and die. Food is far from her mind, and with the prospect of a shortage in sight, it's decided that any supplies are better passed on the likes of her.
She's no good to anyone, least of all herself.
At least Nick has been kept busy with the Guard, given his new rank. She hates to think of the circumstances that got him there, but he's had more than enough to deal with without Rey piling onto the stack. Though it probably didn't take long for the synthetic detective to figure out why Rey wasn't answering any messages, why her presence on the network has been nonexistent, why she's made herself so scarce. It didn't take a private eye to notice the discarded device floating in a concoction that has since liquefied in the kitchen blender. In a passing moment of blind anger and grief, Rey severed her ties to the outside. She knew the apologies and grievances that would follow Maketh's death, and if she could lay here and pretend that things are still okay, that she will wake up tomorrow and things will somehow be different, that they will work themselves out one way or another...
What did she do wrong? It isn't something Rey thinks about much, simply because she usually knows the answer already. But now the answer is muddled. Clouded. Her head a fog. And maybe it's from the extended hours of sleep, of nothing but sleep; the days of not eating or drinking, barely parting from her dark room to handle some of the personal necessities she has deemed worth tending to, she just hasn't been able to think. And yet she's had too much time to think.
Maybe she's hoping for another dream again. A fantasy to play out so that she can at least find an illusion of peace. In some sick twist, she would rather be on a battlefield than this, surrounded by the music of gunfire and mortar and the smell of smoke and blood. Give her something tangible, something that she can hurt and kill. Send her anywhere but the prison of her own head, harrowed by affliction and terrible memories.
Strange, how she hasn't cried. The tears are there, close to the precipice, and yet she can't cry. To most, Maketh is just gone home. For Rey, the truth is much more grim than that.
So she lays there, curled up on the floor of her black room. Buried under a mountain of blankets and the weight of guilt. Anyone able to push through the door will immediately notice a lump on the floor, in the middle of the bedroom. Sometimes that lump stirs in sleep, unwilling to wake at the slightest hint of intrusion. And sometimes her feral instincts want blood between her teeth, to find something that she can claw and stab and tear apart.
It's been a long time since she's eaten now. What supply water she has acquired from her first day has been stored in stacks inside the closet, along with a cache of liquor from the Speakeasy. She won't be making any pitstops at her establishment, so she might as well stock up on the only thing she wants while she can.
Even if that desire will ultimately destroy her, she can't find a reason to give a damn anymore.
What: In the wake of the Null attack, Rey tries to deal with current events by straight up not dealing at all.
Where: Robot House (1401).
When: Catch-all for December. Please put the date in the subject line!
Warnings: Poor coping mechanisms, depression, anger, suicidal ideations, starvation, fun stuff like that.
Note: As of December 12th, Rey will temporarily be without network access until further notice.
Not long after the light of the twin suns peeked through the cracks of every window did Rey do everything in her power remedy this new situation. Having lost Maketh and so much more than that has left a hole in her chest that she can't quite bring herself to even try and fill, and the sun is the last sensation she wants on her skin. Can't drag herself off the floor and go about business as usual, either. Can't do much of anything.
At first it comes in bursts of anger. Screaming and clawing at her own arms. Whatever pain and damage done to herself only heals again in a matter of hours -- sometimes days, before there is a risk of anyone noticing. Her selective healing has its benefits, depending on one's perspective.
Not that Rey gives one much opportunity to stop by and notice. The windows of her room are blackened with layers of opaque cloth, boards sealing them shut from any unwanted visitors peeking inside. The bed pins to the sliding door, leading to that balcony connecting the neighboring bedroom; its mattress props up to serve as a barricade from prying eyes.
In a sense, she's created her own tomb; a place for her to curl up and die. Food is far from her mind, and with the prospect of a shortage in sight, it's decided that any supplies are better passed on the likes of her.
She's no good to anyone, least of all herself.
At least Nick has been kept busy with the Guard, given his new rank. She hates to think of the circumstances that got him there, but he's had more than enough to deal with without Rey piling onto the stack. Though it probably didn't take long for the synthetic detective to figure out why Rey wasn't answering any messages, why her presence on the network has been nonexistent, why she's made herself so scarce. It didn't take a private eye to notice the discarded device floating in a concoction that has since liquefied in the kitchen blender. In a passing moment of blind anger and grief, Rey severed her ties to the outside. She knew the apologies and grievances that would follow Maketh's death, and if she could lay here and pretend that things are still okay, that she will wake up tomorrow and things will somehow be different, that they will work themselves out one way or another...
What did she do wrong? It isn't something Rey thinks about much, simply because she usually knows the answer already. But now the answer is muddled. Clouded. Her head a fog. And maybe it's from the extended hours of sleep, of nothing but sleep; the days of not eating or drinking, barely parting from her dark room to handle some of the personal necessities she has deemed worth tending to, she just hasn't been able to think. And yet she's had too much time to think.
Maybe she's hoping for another dream again. A fantasy to play out so that she can at least find an illusion of peace. In some sick twist, she would rather be on a battlefield than this, surrounded by the music of gunfire and mortar and the smell of smoke and blood. Give her something tangible, something that she can hurt and kill. Send her anywhere but the prison of her own head, harrowed by affliction and terrible memories.
Strange, how she hasn't cried. The tears are there, close to the precipice, and yet she can't cry. To most, Maketh is just gone home. For Rey, the truth is much more grim than that.
So she lays there, curled up on the floor of her black room. Buried under a mountain of blankets and the weight of guilt. Anyone able to push through the door will immediately notice a lump on the floor, in the middle of the bedroom. Sometimes that lump stirs in sleep, unwilling to wake at the slightest hint of intrusion. And sometimes her feral instincts want blood between her teeth, to find something that she can claw and stab and tear apart.
It's been a long time since she's eaten now. What supply water she has acquired from her first day has been stored in stacks inside the closet, along with a cache of liquor from the Speakeasy. She won't be making any pitstops at her establishment, so she might as well stock up on the only thing she wants while she can.
Even if that desire will ultimately destroy her, she can't find a reason to give a damn anymore.
no subject
Rather than disgusted, it's almost heartening that Atem greets the cat with a hint of awe and curiosity. Not many would take to such an appearance nearly as well. Hell if Rey will admit that, though.
"It tends to be shy around strangers. Probably because it's been sick since it showed up." Being a little radioactive and all.
no subject
"Sick with what?" He doesn't like the sound of that! "Have you been feeding it well?" Excuse him if he has doubts about that!
no subject
"Don't know. Nick says it's got some radiation, though. That would probably do it."
It's a miracle that the cat is even alive.
no subject
Excuse you Rey, your foot is on the way. Not that he cares, which is a perk of being small, he's already sliding out the bathroom (he'll come back to clean and clean himself too, he's a mess but... there is a cat!). If the cat's been around all this time, can't be any more dangerous to attempt touching it, right?
Please stop him.
"Got a name?"
no subject
Rey doesn't stop him, but she does make a face when he's immediately drawn to the cat.
"Just... make sure to wash your hands after you've touched it. Especially if it licks you." Please don't lick Atem, cat. "Think we've been calling it 'Tripod'."
That's what she remembers calling it in that pleasant reality she had lived. What a cliché name.
no subject
"Okay," she knows best! Atem crouches down next to it and lets the ... cat, he will call it cat, it's pretty close, anyway, he lets the cat smell his hand before he attempts to run a few fingers over its cute little head. "Tripod, hmm? It's a good name. Yeah, it is."
The cat, sitting as it is, brings its one frontal paw to play with Atem's hand, paw-paw, it goes. "Were you worried about Rey too, Tripod?" He's not even sorry.
"Hey, wanna help clean the bathroom?" But the cat instead stretches and lets out a yawn, showing that mouth full of teeth. "Yeah, well, your loss." Atem stands again and goes back to the bathroom, there isn't much left to do, which is a blessing of its own. But he does need to wash his face, he certainly looks like if he had an encounter with a bear.
"Rey, what do you do during the newbie nights?" Go back to the original plan while removing blood off his face, check.
no subject
"Guess you've come around more than enough that it's not as shy around you like others," Rey comments as Atem gets acquainted with the mutant cat.
Seriously. People are weird. Cats are weird. Everything is weird.
She blinks when it occurs to her suddenly that he isn't talking to Tripod anymore. She rubs the side of her neck.
"Um. Well. Used to arrange dance nights at the Speakeasy. Still do. Just never had time for it."
no subject
"There is still time." He says, casually, but heck, it's more than obvious where he's going with this. "Unless... I don't know, you let someone else do it, you'd have to let them run the bar for a while though, I'm sure Firo has his hands full already."
Some stranger is gonna touch her stuff, is she gonna let them?
no subject
"No," she snaps. "No one else does it. Or touches that place unless I say so."
Rey may or may not be a little overprotective of her Speakeasy. But that is bound to happen when the last one got blown up. No one blows up her bar.
no subject
Atem finishes washing his face the best way he can, blood can be frigging hard to remove! But he turns back at her with a smirk, a little tired but very much there.
"Then what are you waiting for?"
no subject
"Other than not being in a celebratory mood lately? At all?" Huff. "Doubt Rose would stand letting another month pass without something being done, though."
She'd probably get her mitts all over her bar, along with everyone else who stops by. God only knows what's been done there in her absence. Rey almost shudders at the thought.
no subject
"It wouldn't be for you." He says, a little blunter than he intended. He might or not be a little too tired of all of this, and who would blame him? "But, yeah, she mentioned something about it... Alphys too..." It was days ago though, but they still talked about it!
Face clean, bathroom clean, Atem picks up his stupid jar and heads to the living room, with finding some comfort on the couch. He should go home, gets his clothes changed, but with the adrenaline from before no longer filling his system, he's feeling a little woozy. Plus, Tripod climbs on his lap just as he sits, just to paw at the shiny thing inside the jar. Atem lets out a breathy chuckle as he tries to pet him, who would have thought the Eye could probably be a very cool cat toy. If it only jingled...
"Mind if I stay for a bit more?" He asks Rey, for the first time ever since the first time he set foot into her apartment.
no subject
Read as: It'll be on the agenda but hell of she's going to admit shit. Atem will just have to settle on the suspense of it all, won't he?
Rey leaves him be while he finishes cleaning up, sinking into the easy chair that Nick usually takes. Not long after, Atem joins her on the adjascent couch, helping himself to a seat.
"No worries. Tripod seems to like you, anyway." Rey is hardly jealous. It gives her a break from his constant pestering and yelling.
no subject
"Thanks." He mutters as he brings the cat into a more comfy position after he sinks further into the couch, there is always something soothing about the warmth of a little critter on one's lap.
"Hmm, apparently, you are a pet person now..." He says lazily as he pets the lanky cat.